


Tourniquet

by Fudgyokra



Category: Gravity Falls, Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice, Future Fic, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Meant To Be, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Near Future, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romantic Friendship, Sibling Love, Strangers to Lovers, pinescone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-08-27 10:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8398723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fudgyokra/pseuds/Fudgyokra
Summary: It was safe to say that Dipper Pines was wholly and woefully accustomed to sadness.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this before the GF finale, but I don't think it interferes with much. Dipper and Mabel are 20, Wirt is 22, Greg is 15.

 

One curiosity too many had led him down a road he never thought he’d have to take. Over the course of eight years, that road had led him through the death of his great uncle Ford, the divorce of his parents, and a strange period of tension between him and his sister that led to a good deal of torment for both of them. For a long time his life consisted of psychiatric visits and custody battles, aided by the odd prescription.

It was safe to say that Dipper Pines was wholly and woefully accustomed to sadness.

Mabel had eventually grown out of the worst of it, left only with a bottle of hydroxyzine for the rare times when her nightmares hit too close to home. Where it took her a month to recover from Ford’s death, it took Dipper closer to three.

Unlike his sister, he never truly recovered from the torment he’d lived through. He also had his fair share of anxiety pills, and maybe he took them a little more often than Mabel did. He had some antidepressants too, and a sudden inclination toward black coffee because adding sugar and cream became too time-consuming to properly stave off sleep as long as he wanted to. The possibility of nightmares sometimes kept him up for three days straight. He spent most of that time in the basement where Ford used to stay or at Lazy Susan’s Diner on the really bad nights when he couldn’t bear to look at anything the man had touched.

Dipper and Mabel had permanently moved in with their great uncle Stan just before their nineteenth birthday to avoid the messy dilemma of seeing their mother on such-and-such weeks and their father on so-and-so days, which worked out well in the scheme of things but was still strange for a while. Following the proper customs of the typical adult, they visited their parents on holidays and respective birthdays, which eventually stopped being painful and became just another part of their usual lives.

Lately, things were getting better. When Mabel talked and joked with him Dipper would talk and joke back. When Stan teased him he would smile and roll his eyes and everything would feel normal. Happy, even.

It had taken some time for Dipper to forgive himself for his past mistakes, but once he had it was easier to believe that Bill was really gone. What had been the biggest source of his agony, his doubt—it was gone for good.

That didn’t stop the dreams, though. No matter how happy he’d been that day they plagued him at night sometimes, sending him shooting up in bed, drenched in sweat, with the last remnants of a scream on his lips. Mabel came running each time and the scene would always end with them in a tight embrace, just like old times even though they were twenty instead of twelve.

Tonight was one of those nights. Mabel had gone back to bed after the incident and several assurances on Dipper’s part that he would be fine. This, as he was sure she knew, wasn’t quite a lie but wasn’t necessarily the truth, either.

Unable to sleep after that, he bundled up and breached the sudden rush of wind that greeted him at the front door of the Mystery Shack, prompting a bone-deep shiver to rack his form. His first step outside landed his boot straight into a puddle of water at least three inches deep, which he dealt with less than gracefully by kicking a spray of water into the air as if that would help. Even after years of living there full-time, Dipper couldn’t seem to get used to the town’s abysmal winter weather. It didn’t rain half as much back in Piedmont.

Still, he trudged through the remnants of the evening downpour with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, mumbling to himself all the way to Lazy Susan’s Diner.

The wet asphalt outside the restaurant gleamed orange beneath the single streetlight, and he had to sidestep another large puddle that had accumulated in the dip between the parking lot and the road.

He pushed the diner’s glass door open, grateful for the twenty-four hour establishment and the heated air inside alike.

After three steps inside he stopped staring down at his feet and raised his eyes to scan for Susan, which is when he made eye contact with a tall, gangly man he’d never seen in his life sitting at the bar, and beside him a short boy that was barely tall enough to be at Dipper’s chin level. He could sympathize with that. He hadn’t gained his height until somewhere near his eighteenth year, and now that he was taller than both Stan and Mabel they assured him it was pure luck that he’d shot up so much.

A moment of silence passed before Dipper eloquently said, “Uhh… Hey. There isn’t usually anyone in here this time of night.”

If he had known there were going to be people he would’ve tried to look a little more presentable. Instead, he stood there with one soaked boot, a pair of red flannel pajama bottoms, and a too-big, tattered old skiing jacket that used to belong to Ford. At least his hat covered his bedhead, he thought, though it didn’t really make him feel any better.

Susan appeared from the kitchen just a second later with two plates of what looked to Dipper like mashed potatoes and syrup. “Ah!” she exclaimed once she’d turned enough to catch sight of him. “Speak of the devil.”

The tall stranger said, “ _Oh_ ,” the same time that Dipper said, “Wait, what?”

Susan set the plates down in front of the two customers and approached Dipper for a hug, which he returned as awkwardly as usual. He knew she was just trying to be nice, but she hugged rather aggressively and she always smelled like cooking oil.

“We were just talking about you, honey,” she said unnecessarily. Dipper had already gathered that much. He wanted to know _why_.

“What did she tell you?” he asked the duo, trying to tack on an easygoing laugh so he didn’t sound nervous. It didn’t quite have the desired effect.

_Oh, god, what had she told them? The Lamby story? She told them the Lamby story, didn’t she? Did she know about that?_

“I told ‘em all about how you saved the town!”

 _Oh._ Dipper smiled bashfully and pulled at his collar. “Haha, what? Are people still talking about that? That was years ago.”

For the first time that night the tall stranger addressed him, offering an emphatic, “That’s still—that’s amazing!”

“Yeah!” the short stranger added through a mouthful of potatoes.

“Greg, don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Sorry, Wirt.”

“You’re still doing it.”

“I can’t help it! I still have food in my mouth.”

“Yeah—yes, just don’t _talk_ with it still in your mouth.”

“Okay.”

Susan interrupted for a moment to ask if Dipper wanted anything and in response he nodded fervently. “Coffee, please.” Susan excused herself from the room, leaving Dipper alone with the strangers.

The tall one cleared his throat and stood from the bar. “Anyway, uh, yeah. So…I’m Wirt.” He extended his hand toward Dipper, who accepted his handshake. “And this guy right here with no table manners is my brother, Greg.”

“I’m Greg,” Greg repeated merrily, mouth finally devoid of food. “I’m fifteen and my three favorite things are potatoes, molasses, and rocks!” He tapped his chin a couple of times, then said, “No, wait. Molasses, rocks, and my pet frog, Jason Funderburker the second.”

“Nice to meet you,” Dipper said. “Where are you guys from?”

“Arizona,” Wirt answered. “My city wasn’t exactly the greatest, but at least there it didn’t rain in the winter.” His punctuating sigh sounded strangely wistful to Dipper.

“It snowed a lot, though,” Greg chimed in. Wirt hummed in agreement.

“Are you guys going back any time soon?” Dipper asked, eyeing the two small bags they had shoved beneath their stools.

In the strained space of time it took for the response to come, Dipper had already inferred what the answer would be. He regretted asking.

“No. We aren’t going back any time soon.” Wirt glanced down at his plate of untouched food. Greg, whose plate was now empty, asked his brother if he was going to eat his potatoes. Wirt shook his head. Gladly, Greg slid the plate toward himself and began digging in.

“Oh,” was all Dipper could say at first. After a few more seconds of silence had passed his curiosity eventually won out and—though he hated himself for it—he blurted, “Why not?”

Greg’s fork stopped scraping his plate. He looked up at his brother, who didn’t look back at him. Instead, Wirt gave Dipper a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and replied, “I just— _we_ just needed a change of scenery.”

“Yeah!” Greg added. “A nice quiet place where Wirt can write his poetry and stuff!”

Before Dipper could express his interest in the man’s poetic pursuits, Susan had returned to the room, coffee mug in hand, and beat him to it. “Oh, poetry!” she all but cooed. “Are you the _romantic_ poet or the _mournful_ poet?”

“The, uh—the first one,” Wirt answered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe a little bit of the second one, too.” Here he laughed, but it sounded a little flat.

“ _Ohh_ ,” Susan said, putting her hand over her heart. “You’re one of those little boys that writes about girls you never got the chance to confess to, I bet.”

Wirt’s face turned pink alarmingly quickly. He looked a little put off. “Hey, I’m not a little boy, first of all. I’m twenty-two. And—and also, I confessed to the girls I liked.”

“Girl,” Greg said matter-of-factly. “There was only one.”

Wirt shot his brother a glare. “How do you know?”

“’Cause you tell me about all your crushes, dummy.”

“I do not.”

Greg only shrugged at that, so Wirt redirected his flustered gaze back to Susan, who was smiling amicably at him. “My word, Dipper, he sounds just like you.” She shook her head. “You two ought to get along fine while I go do dishes, then, right?” Instead of waiting for an actual response, not that there would have been any argument, she answered her own question with an affirming hum and disappeared into the kitchen.

Dipper sat down at the bar, prompting Wirt to return to his seat as well. There was an awkward patch of silence before the former broke it. “I do _not_ sound like that,” he said, “but I definitely know what it’s like to be mistaken for a kid all the time.”

Wirt raised an eyebrow at him. “You have a beard.”

It was more like a soul patch than an actual beard, but Dipper appreciated the sentiment. “That’s kind of why I have it. People tell me that I look like a baby without it.”

Wirt actually cracked a smile at that. “I think you look fine. I mean—you don’t look like a baby. You look like a grown man.” His eyes flitted over the expanse of Dipper’s frame, then down toward the bar.

Dipper felt a funny thrill in his stomach. “Well, thanks. You do too, don’t worry.”

Wirt’s smile grew. “Maybe I should grow a beard.”

“Nah, you look good without one.” Dipper paused to take a sip of his coffee, then hesitantly added, “Uh, not to sound weird or anything.”

“It totally wasn’t weird,” Wirt said quickly. “It was nice. Thank you.”

Dipper hid his goofy grin behind his mug and took another drink.

“So, uh… How’s the coffee here?” Wirt asked, nodding toward the shoddy-looking mug.

Greg, who had taken to banging rhythmically on his plate with forks, said, “But you don’t drink coffee, Wirt. You said it was gross.”

Wirt looked wearily over at Greg. “It was just a question, Greg.”

“Not a coffee person, huh?” Dipper asked.

“More of a tea person,” Wirt agreed.

“We’ve got really good tea back at the Shack,” Dipper said without thinking. “You could…” He waved his free hand in a circular motion. “Y’know, come over if you want.”

Wirt blinked owlishly at him and Dipper suddenly felt like a total weirdo. “I get it if you’re not comfortable with that, though,” he said in a rush. “I know we just met.”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Wirt assured him, glancing back at Greg, who was still merrily tapping away at his plate. “It’s just, uh... That I kind of... I have to…” The more he floundered the more expressive his arm movements got, until it reached the point where it was obvious the man was anxiously digging for excuses.

“It’s fine, man,” Dipper said, patting him twice on the shoulder. “Do you always worry this much?” _Like I’m one to talk_ , his brain tossed back at him. “You can say no.”

Wirt let out a long stream of air through his mouth, then admitted, “I don’t... _want_ to say no. I just really have to find a place for me and Greg to stay tonight.” At this, he winced. “We’ve sort of just been wandering from town to town lately, you see.”

Greg, apparently done with his musical stylings, hopped off his stool and stood behind Wirt, poking incessantly at his back. “Let’s go stay with Dipper!”

“ _Greg_ , you can’t just assume—”

Dipper didn’t really know why he opened his mouth at all but something in him, whatever it was, bubbled to the surface and without hesitation he said, “You guys can stay with me and my family. We live at the Mystery Shack just up the road.”

Wirt looked over his shoulder at Greg, then back at Dipper. After a lengthy consideration, he replied, “All right. We’ll stay. Thank you very much.” He nodded at Dipper, who nodded back.

“No problem at all.” He wondered how Stan was going to react to this. He’d probably think they were robbers or something.

“Yes!” Greg cheered. “You gotta tell us all about saving the town, Dipper.”

Dipper felt the blood drain from his face. “Haha, yeah, uh—”

Susan’s voice suddenly cut in through the kitchen door, growing closer with every word she said until she had reached her post behind the counter. Dipper found himself relieved by the interruption. “All righty, boys. Dishes are done. Was the coffee good, Dipper? I’m trying out a new blend.”

He glanced at the mug he’d taken two drinks from and smiled awkwardly. “Well, coffee is coffee. It gets the job done.”

He fished a couple of dollars from his pocket and handed it to Susan, who waved a hand at him. “It’s on the house this time, honey. Get some sleep tonight, okay?” She smiled at him and he tried to smile back, but his thoughts were too wrapped up in the prospect of having nightmares, especially when he had guests around.

“I’ll try,” he said, unsure of whether or not this was the truth. “Goodbye, Susan. And thank you.”

Dipper looked over at Wirt and Greg and smiled apologetically. “I hate to mention this, but…” He jerked a thumb toward the downpour that had been steadily developing outside. “We have to walk back to my house.”

Wirt chewed his lip for a moment, opened his mouth, and then said something that was immediately drowned out by Greg yelling, “Whoever gets there last is a moldy potato!” before he ran out the door.

Wirt offered Dipper a small smile and took a step toward him. “Run on three?” he asked.

Dipper laughed. “Doesn’t matter if we run or walk, we’ll get just as soaked either way.”

They each cast a glance at Greg, who was jumping in puddles outside, then looked back at each other. Within the span of a second Dipper exclaimed, “Three!” and bolted out the door.

Wirt took off after him with an indignant, “Hey!” that soon enough dissolved into laughter. Dipper couldn’t help but grin.

The three of them ran straight through the rain, their boyish laughter echoing in the silence of the streets. By the time they reached the Shack they were all panting, shivering wrecks, yet for the first time in a long time, Dipper felt at ease in the dark.

They all huddled under the awning while Dipper tried to get his shaking hands to cooperate enough to unlock the front door. Once he succeeded he shot them a sideways smile. “It’s not really much to look at,” he said as he led them inside and extended an arm to gesture at the gift shop, “but welcome to The Mystery Shack.”


	2. Two

For the first ten minutes they spent in the Shack, Wirt and Greg were awestruck. Greg took his time eyeing trinkets while Wirt stayed stationary, trailing his wide eyes along the decorated walls like he’d never seen anything like them.

Dipper let them take it in for a while before he had to alert them to the fact that they were soaking the floor.

Wirt launched into a hearty apology and grabbed his brother’s arm. “C’mon, Greg.” He started toward where Dipper was heading, and Greg allowed himself to be tugged gently along.

Dipper led them up the stairs as quietly as he could manage, cringing at every squeak the old wood gave. They made it up without incident, thankfully, and Dipper dug through his dresser to find some temporary clothes for his guests. He had a hard time finding anything that he thought would fit either of them, but eventually he unearthed one of his bigger t-shirts—an alarmingly yellow number that advertised his support of a football team he’d never even heard of—and a pair of plaid pajama pants that were almost identical to the ones he was currently wearing. He offered these to Wirt, who graciously accepted. A moment later Dipper came back bearing a pair of his rarely-worn basketball shorts and a white tank top for Greg, whom he was closer to in terms of height but who also happened to be a little bigger around than him, as opposed to Wirt, who was tall and stick-thin.

Dipper led them to the bathroom so they could change, during which time he returned to his bedroom to do the same. When the trio regrouped in the hallway he could see the results of the pajama-lending turned out about as well as expected. The yellow tee drooped off Wirt’s skinny frame but was at least the proper length, unlike the pants, which ended a couple inches above his ankles. The shorts were long on Greg and the tank top was a little too tight, but the two seemed reasonably satisfied, regardless.

“Sorry about the clothes,” he said anyway. “I wasn’t anticipating guests.”

“No, no, this is great! Thanks!” Wirt said quickly. “We’re sorry we sprung this on you so suddenly.” He frowned and began wringing his hands. “We’d probably better get to sleep so we can leave early and be out of your hair.”

Dipper’s first response was to assure them that they could stay as long as they wanted, but he wasn’t sure how Stan would feel about that. What he said instead was, “My great uncle Ford’s old bedroom is downstairs if you want to sleep there.” He paused, then continued with, “Well, the bed’s a single… Y’know what? You guys can have my bed.”

Wirt’s hands rose up in a flash, palms opened toward Dipper. “Oh, no, we can’t—” Before he could finish, Greg bounded into Dipper’s room and hopped onto the bed. “This is where the hero of the town sleeps,” he proclaimed merrily.

Dipper tried hard to smile and still came up short. “It wasn’t as great as you think it was.”

Wirt looked at him pensively, like he was about to ask something, but after a long moment all he did was take a hesitant step into Dipper’s bedroom.

“Was it scary?” Greg asked, drawing his feet close to himself and regarding Dipper with interest.

Dipper was quiet enough to make things awkward, so eventually he settled on the truth and said, “It was the scariest thing I’ve ever done. I still have nightmares about it.”

Greg gave an emphatic “ _Wow_ ” and looked over at his brother. “Just like you, Wirt.”

Wirt bristled. “Thank you for humoring him. We really ought to be getting to sleep now.” He smiled at Dipper, who could tell it took him a lot of effort to do so. “Thanks for everything.”

“No problem,” Dipper said. He rubbed his arm. “Good night.”

“Good night,” the brothers echoed.

Dipper closed the door and headed back downstairs. Unwilling to sleep in Ford’s old room, he collapsed onto the couch in an exhausted heap, falling asleep before he could think better of it.

The nightmares never came that night, but he still awoke with a jolt at the sound of his name being yelled down the stairs. It took him a minute to catch his breath.

“Yeah, Mabel?” he yelled back, rubbing a hand across his face before blearily sitting up. His sister came bounding down the stairs, already dressed and made up and springy. Dipper squinted at her. “What is it?”

“Grunkle Stan’s gonna kick your ass if he finds out you let strangers stay here.”

Dipper’s eyebrows shot up just before his body did. “Oh god, where is he? I can explain.”

Mabel jerked a thumb toward the front door. “He left earlier to buy groceries.”

“Thank goodness,” he mumbled, glancing over at the stairs where Wirt and Greg were descending.

“Uh—” Wirt started, cleared his throat, and began again. “Sorry, we were just leaving.”

“No, stay for breakfast!” Mabel exclaimed enthusiastically, clasping her hands. “I’m always okay with handsome boys visiting!”

“ _Mabel_ ,” Dipper hissed, “Stan’s not gonna—”

“As long as he doesn’t know they slept over, he’ll be fine,” his sister interrupted, flapping her hand at him before walking into the kitchen.

“How did you know—”

“I walked in on them changing.” Mabel pulled a box of cereal out of the pantry and snorted. “I was coming to wake _you_ up.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t hear Wirt fall over,” Greg said. “He got so embarrassed he tripped over his pants.”

Wirt grumbled something under his breath, then said aloud, “Thank you, Greg.”

Mabel laughed. “It was pretty funny, wasn’t it?”

Dipper shot Wirt a sympathetic smile. “You learn to live with it.”

Past Greg’s snickering, Wirt said, “You learn to love it,” and ruffled his brother’s hair.

That resonated with Dipper in a familiar way. He understood how necessary it was for him to have Mabel there by his side, and he guessed that these two had a similar bond.

The four of them ate together at the table, chatting companionably as if they’d known each other for much longer than an hour. Something about it just felt _right_ , Dipper decided; the way Wirt waxed poetic when Greg asked him stupid questions (he said he knew Wirt liked to show off, to which Wirt responded with a hearty “I do not!”), the way Mabel pounced up in her seat childishly when she had a point to make, the way Dipper himself felt so at ease in the mix of sounds that when Wirt looked at him he could smile effortlessly and take delight in the fact that Wirt smiled back.

These strangers looked right at home, Dipper realized. He’d been around long enough to know that that was a gift you shouldn’t take for granted.

He stood up, gathered everyone’s bowls, and said, casually, “Why don’t you guys hang out with us today?”

Mabel gasped and clasped her hands together, casting rainbows as her colorful rings caught the sunlight. “That sounds perfect!”

With matched enthusiasm, Greg added, “Yeah!”

Dipper looked at Wirt. Wirt did not look back. “I dunno,” he said, face and tone uneasy. “We’ve sort of got somewhere to be.”

“Where’s that?” Greg asked, puzzled.

“Anywhere but here,” Wirt replied, as though he were tired. “I’m sorry, thank you for the offer, though.”

Just like that he stood, swept a guiding hand over his brother’s shoulder, and took long, purposeful strides out of the shack.

Mabel looked at Dipper with her eyebrows raised and Greg backed his chair up from the table. “It’s nothin’ personal. Wirt doesn’t like to bother people.”

Dipper said, “It’s not a bother,” at the same time Mabel said, “C’mon!”

Greg only shrugged. “I haven’t been able to convince him to stay in a place for more than a few days, and even that’s too long if there’s people around. I think he’s afraid of someone trying to help him.”

There was an abrupt break in the conversation, during which the twins looked at each other with identical frowns. They knew the feeling. The silence was ongoing for at least a minute until, finally, Wirt called from outside, “Greg, c’mon!”

By the time Greg had taken a step, Dipper had already taken two. “Wait just a minute,” the latter said, pushing through the front door despite the wave of anxiety that overcame him. _Why did I do that?_ He wondered, mentally strangling himself. _I didn’t need to do that._

But he had done that.

Wirt looked at him with one eyebrow raised. “Um, hey, listen, sorry about—”

“I feel like we have a lot in common,” Dipper said all in one breath. He felt his heart jackhammering in his chest and, frankly, he felt like an idiot.

“O…kay…” Wirt cleared his throat and in that instant Dipper felt his soul flee his body.

“I—” he laughed uneasily and held his hands up in his defense. “I can explain what I mean. I meant, uh, I want you to stay.”

That seemed to hit Wirt in a funny place, because he visibly bristled and started picking at invisible lint on his sweater. “That’s very kind of you, but, ah, I have—”

Dipper interrupted just in time to finish the other’s sentence with him. “‘Somewhere to be.’ I know, you said that.”

When Wirt flushed, Dipper wished he hadn’t said anything. “Um! I just think it’d be great to get to know each other! Y’know, we could be…friends?”

Wirt opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. Dipper wanted to die. _This is not going as planned. Plan B, Plan B!_

“Do you wanna see something before you go?” he asked, sounding winded.

Wirt’s surprised eyes snapped from somewhere in the distance to fix upon Dipper’s face. “Huh? Like what?”

“Yeah, like what?” Mabel and Greg crowed from the doorway.

Both Wirt and Dipper jumped, but Greg didn’t seem to pay any mind. Mabel, however, knew the look on Dipper’s face like the back of her hand. He hated that.

“I think that’s a _great_ idea,” she cooed dramatically, moving to throw her arms around the two of them. “Get some quality bonding time in before you go! It’s not often you get to talk to a real hero, y’know!”

“Mabel, that’s not—” Dipper looked over in time to see his sister wink and make a kissy face at him, to which he was too annoyed to respond.

“I think so, too!” Greg said, spinning around to face Mabel. “What’s it like being a hero?”

“You know what?” she all but bellowed, “I’ll tell Greg here all about it so you two can go exploring. All right? All right.” She flashed a cheeky grin in her brother’s direction before quite literally dragging Greg by the hand back into the Shack.

Dipper couldn’t remember how to speak, but luckily Wirt had him covered on that front.

“I suppose it is a rarity to unravel a real hero’s exploits,” he said, taking a step forward. “I’ve always wondered what it must be like to be heralded like that, to be respected and revered by all who know you. All I can do is write, but what you have done has to be a better story than I could ever hope to relay on paper.”

Dipper half-smiled at the other’s poetic ramblings. “I really doubt that.” He took the first steps on the path toward his old hiding spot in the woods—a very impractical thing to do, really, since Soos would be coming with the morning’s first tour group in an hour. He couldn’t be bothered by the thought, though; the woods were the first and last thing he’d ever really fallen in love with. He thought it might be a good place to let his guest visit.

Wirt followed him. “Are you kidding? You _saved_ a _town_.”

“It wasn’t just me. I had plenty of help,” Dipper said morosely. “But my great uncle Ford, he’s—well, he died not too long ago and Stan…Stan’s probably on the way out, too. The only person I have left is Mabel, so sorry if I don’t take the subject lightly.”

Wirt’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Wow, you know, I feel the same about Greg.” He then added, quickly, “Not that I’ve experienced your kind of loss, exactly. I just stopped seeing my dad after the divorce, and my mom…well, that’s another story. That’s really about all I had to worry about back then, though.” Here, he chuckled weakly, something so small that it almost sounded like nothing more than a hum.

“I understand.” Dipper watched the dewdrops catch on his boots for a moment as he walked, step-in-step beside a pair of scuffed loafers.

“Your parents too?” Dipper nodded, so Wirt continued with, “Yeah, at least it’s good to know you’re not alone.”

“Don’t I know it.” Dipper lifted up a drooping branch and tipped his head to gesture Wirt forward. When he didn’t move, Dipper looked over at him. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” Wirt said, too quickly. He ducked under the branch, hand gripping Dipper’s arm to steady himself. “I’m just not a big fan of the woods.” There was something strange about his voice, but Dipper didn’t want to mention it.

“Neither is Mabel,” he said casually, watching the other’s fingers slide from his arm. He passed beneath the branches himself and dragged his gaze over the comforting expanse of trees, taking a deep breath as he did. How someone couldn’t love the woods was beyond him.

 “So what happened to this town, anyway?” Wirt asked, idly nudging a stump with the toe of his shoe.

“We’re not really supposed to talk about it.”

“But you want to, don’t you?”

Dipper waited for the goosebumps on his skin to settle before he began talking again. “God, no. But I _have_ to. I can’t just pack all of _that_ away like it was nothing! I nearly died!” There was a brief pause, then he said, “I’m sorry. It’s just so hard to say, but it’s harder not to.”

“So that’s what it feels like to be a hero, huh?” Wirt had sat down on the stump and was now tracing the rings with his index finger. It proved to be something weirdly fascinating to Dipper, who kept watching the movement as he spoke.

“I dunno, I guess. If that’s what it feels like I’d rather not.”

“Come on, you wouldn’t give up an accomplishment like that,” Wirt said, making eye contact with him. “Would you?”

“Absolutely. I’d rather be able to sleep at night.” Wirt nodded slowly like he understood. This time, Dipper had to ask. “You ever had problems like that?”

“Why? What makes you ask?” Wirt looked at Dipper accusingly, so he backtracked.

“Well, when people talk to me about my problems it always sounds like ‘oh, here’s Dipper with his poor traumatic life, let’s throw him a big pity party and maybe he’ll feel better.’ You’re not like that.”

Wirt sighed so deeply that Dipper could see the tension in his shoulders releasing. “It’s because I get the same sort of thing all the time. It’s always ‘poor kid’ this and ‘so sad’ that. Like, ‘poor Wirt got disowned by his mom,’ or ‘silly boy thinks he’s got it bad enough to be depressed, someone’s always got it worse!’” Wirt made a frustrated sound and gestured abruptly with his hands. “As if those are things I can control. As if they know all the shit I’ve been through.”

Dipper was taken aback by the sudden force in the other’s tone, but especially so by what he’d said. “Is that why you’re out on your own? Your mom just…threw you out?”

“Not at all. I wished she would’ve thrown me out. Instead she acted like everything was fine, but she never treated me the same way she did before.”

Dipper took the opportunity to sit beside him on the stump, even if it was a tighter squeeze than he’d anticipated. They sat back to back now and Dipper could feel Wirt shivering, so he handed him his jacket.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t.”

“I’m used to the cold.”

“You think I would be, too.” Wirt accepted the jacket and draped it around his shoulders. “Thank you very much. You’ve been way too nice to me.”

“Nah, I think I’ve been just the right amount of nice.” Dipper laughed once through his nose and leaned back to nudge the other. “There’s no reason for me to be _mean_ to you.”

Wirt turned so that he was only half-sitting on the stump and regarded Dipper with a mock fearful expression. “But I’ve got mental illnesses, what if I’m dangerous?”

Dipper snorted. “Right! I get that from my mom all the time.” He pitched his voice up to mimic his mother, “I don’t understand why you’re so psychotic, Dipper, you’ve got nothing to be worried about!”

Wirt grinned. “But you have _delusions_ and you need to go to a psych ward, Wirt. They can help you, Wirt. Maybe they’ll make you straight, too, while they’re at it!”

Dipper nudged him again with his shoulder and laughed. “‘My god, Dipper, you’re twenty and you’ve never had a girlfriend? You’re not a queer, are you?’ Sorry mom, I just can’t help that I’m a massive flamer! Better luck with Mabel!”

The two of them sat there chuckling to themselves for a few long moments, only to reach a quiet, awkward impasse that neither of them wanted to broach. What do you do when you’ve just admitted all that to a stranger?

Around them the trees rustled noisily, signaling to Dipper that it was about to rain. “Damn this town,” he said, voice tight. “It’s always either cold and rainy or hot and miserable.”

“Yeah, it seems like it,” Wirt said absently before he chose to stand. “I guess you should go home so I can head out.”

“In the rain?” Dipper shook his head. “Come on, stay and we can make that tea I promised you I had.”

“I don’t know, Dipper.”

That was the first time he’d heard the other man say his name, and it made his stomach twist in a way Dipper wished he could say wasn’t damning. “We don’t have to talk about…this.” He waved a hand at the area around them, which drew Wirt’s eyes to the swaying treetops.

“Fine, I just want out of here.” He frowned and handed Dipper his jacket. “Here.” With that, he began walking back toward the Mystery Shack, using his height to his advantage and lifting the hanging branch higher than Dipper had managed. The latter walked underneath without even ducking and privately made a face about it. He might have been taller than Mabel and Stan, but Wirt dwarfed him by a good few inches and that secretly irritated him a little bit.

“So, hey.” Wirt started, gently lowering the branch behind him as if he were afraid it would break if he let it fall by itself.

Dipper’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t feel like anything good was going to follow, but when Wirt turned to face him again he was smiling in a perfectly civil—even friendly—sort of way.

“You know how you said we had a lot in common?”

“Yeah…” He found himself leaning forward in anticipation.

“I think so, too.” Wirt left it at that and continued on the path back, leaving Dipper with a sense of disappointment. Before he began following, he thought of Mabel and the noisy antics she’d pursue in order to harass him about this journey, then subsequently thought better of returning to the Shack.

“Wait,” he said, “Not yet.”

Wirt regarded him curiously, and Dipper felt a childish sense of bashfulness envelope him. Carefully, with much thought, he said, “I’ve got something to ask you.”


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so happy we finally know Dipper’s real name. It’s so cute! Funny, that’s my closest guy friend’s name.

Dipper wondered why it suddenly seemed easier to save a town than to confess one’s feelings to somebody.

The air whipped dried leaves all around, warning them of the impending storm. Still, neither man moved. There was almost a minute of silence, which only came to an end when a bird hollered in the distance and Wirt’s pupils dilated. “Listen,” he began, “I really appreciate you showing me around, but we should go back inside.”

Dipper threw one hand up in a vague, panicked gesture. “Um, I know, I just—I just have to think about what I’m trying to say before I say it.” He laughed nervously, a sound that became slightly strangled when a surprised expression dawned on the other’s face.

“You mean…” Wirt’s mouth became a crumpled line at the same instant his brows furrowed. He obviously didn’t know how to continue, but Dipper could tell he’d been found out.

His words came in a rush. He wasn’t even sure he’d taken a breath between them. “I know this is totally weird and everything but I think we could be _more_ than friends, y’know?”

“We’re friends?” Wirt asked, sending an almost palpable jolt through Dipper’s chest. “I—I didn’t mean it like that,” he said with a forced laugh. “I just don’t even deserve your friendship.” He took a step back and flinched when his back hit a tree. “Last time I got close to someone it was a disaster. That’s why I left home.”

“What, because a relationship didn’t work out?” Dipper hadn’t meant to sound condescending, but the words were already out.

Wirt scoffed. “Yeah, that’s why. It’s not like she thought I was crazy, it’s that I overreacted. You sound just like—” He paused to make a frustrated sound, then calmed himself with a deep breath. “I can’t let my problems hurt people around me, whether they understand that or not.”

Dipper sighed through his nose. “You just need someone who understands.”

“Like you?” Wirt asked flatly.

Dipper took that one personally. “You said yourself we have so much in common! What makes you think we couldn’t work this out?”

Tersely, Wirt replied, “Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

The silence came back, heavy and intimidating. Without the distraction of conversation, the duo realized it had begun to sprinkle, something that was certain to erupt into a downpour in the next coming minutes. Still, Wirt sunk to the ground and got comfortable against the base of the tree he’d been standing in front of.

After several seconds of avoiding eye contact and rerouting his temper, Dipper looked at Wirt to find him looking back.

“I’m sorry, you don’t deserve that,” the latter said softly, rubbing the back of his neck with both hands. “I’m sorry—shit, I am so sorry.”

“I’m sorry for pressing it,” Dipper said. He approached him and offered his hand. “If it helps, I don’t think you’re ‘wrong’ in any way.”

Wirt looked visibly embarrassed. “God, I don’t think you are, either. I shouldn’t have said that, I’m—”

“Sorry. I know.” Dipper cracked a smile. “Let’s get back before it really starts raining.”

Wirt took his hand, and Dipper started to help him up before Wirt began insistently tugging down. Feeling mildly nauseated in the midst of all his nervousness, Dipper knelt down in front of Wirt and raised an eyebrow.

“I think you are the miracle I’d been waiting to find,” Wirt said, not meeting his eyes. “Someone who might give a damn to stop the bleeding instead of asking why I bled in the first place.”

Dipper couldn’t stop his grin from flowering. God, Wirt was corny. “Yeah?” A raindrop splashed across his cheek—a final warning from the sky that the storm was due any second. “It would be hypocritical of me to be wounded and ask how someone else could be just as hurt.”

This seemed to please Wirt, so he finally stood and brushed the leaves off his pants. “Let’s go inside.” Then, meekly, he added, “Please.”

“I’ve got something I think you’re going to like,” Dipper said. Wirt gave him a scandalized look, and Dipper quickly remedied it by clarifying, “ _Tea_. I’ve got tea!”

Wirt laughed a squeaky, ridiculous laugh that made Dipper smile.

They began heading toward the Shack, and after a few deliberative seconds of lip-worrying, Dipper brushed his hand against Wirt’s, who took the offer without hesitation. His hands were bony and cold, but Dipper couldn’t be bothered in the slightest.

Maybe with some luck they could be more than friends, he thought. But it had been so long since he’d felt comfortable around anyone outside the Mystery Shack that it was a blessing in and of itself to have someone he could even call a friend.

Funny, how things happened like that.

Their last moment of peace ended outside the door to the Shack, because inside was practically riotous. Soos was dazzling a large crowd of chattering people, Mabel and Greg included, with some magical thing of unspecified origin, which gave the men ample time to sneak up the stairs and around the corner into Dipper’s bedroom. The last thing they needed was noise.

Dipper heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness for Soos’s captivating crowd-pleasing.” He laughed at this, but he noticed that Wirt was looking pensively at him now and he had a feeling he knew why.

“I can’t stay here.”

_Yep, there it was. He sure didn’t beat around the bush, did he?_ Dipper cleared his throat, poised to respond, but before he could, the other added, “I want to. I want you to know that I do.”

Dipper hadn’t been expecting that part. “You do?”

Wirt nodded and said, “But that’s exactly why I can’t.”

“Because you don’t want to hurt me? I’ve been through actual hell on earth, you couldn’t do much that would scare me off.”

Wirt was quiet for a long time before he finally sat on the bed and looked at Dipper with an uneasy smile on his face. “I got lost a long time ago. In the woods. It’s why I don’t like them too much.”

Dipper sat beside him a respectable distance away, and was surprised when Wirt scooted closer. “When I say this, you’re gonna think I’m crazy.” He spread his fingers out in front of him and studied his hands carefully, as if he weren’t sure he was actually a tangible person. “I think I died that night.”

Goosebumps rose on Dipper’s skin, making the hair on his arms stand on end. He vividly recalled wood seizing his legs, crawling up his body, turning him from human to nature in seconds while his heart hammered in his chest. At least, until it stopped. He still didn’t know whether or not to count that as dying.

Carefully, he worked out a response. “What did it feel like?”

Wirt squinted at his hands, obviously lost in thought. “Like living, I guess? I don’t remember feeling anything at all. I was just suddenly lost in the woods with my brother…but I came back. I’m alive today. I’m sitting here right now talking to you.” He pressed his lips into a thin line, and before Dipper could say anything helpful Wirt was crying.

_Oh no, shit. Shit._ In a blind panic, he blurted, “I know! I feel the same way. I died once, too, I think.” It sounded stupid when he said it aloud but he continued, nonetheless. “First I was there, then I just _wasn’t._ It is an experience I still can’t quite believe.”

“It’s the worst, Dipper. I tried to explain to my mother, to Sara, to everyone, but they just can’t wrap their heads around it. No matter what I say, it all boils down to ‘he’s crazy, you just gotta ride it out.’ I know Sara meant well, I know she did, but she couldn’t even begin to understand. First everything was fine, and then the hallucinations started, and then the bad dreams, and then—” Wirt stopped short and took a shaky breath.

Despite his curiosity, Dipper couldn’t find it in him to ask what came next and instead put a hand on the other’s shoulder.

“I can see that I made her frustrated. I made my mother frustrated. My step-dad, too. Eventually I just decided to leave and look for a place of my own. If I could move far enough away, I thought maybe I’d forget about it all. I gave up on close relationships. I have Greg, and that was good enough until I realized…he’s growing up. He’s going to be out on his own soon, and then he won’t need me anymore.”

Without missing a beat, Dipper said, “I don’t think that’s true. At one point or another, everyone needs their sibling to be there for them, you know?”

Wirt nodded, and Dipper was glad to see the moment of despair had apparently passed. He was sobering up, although he now appeared strangely apologetic. “I’m sorry to unload all of this, it’s just…” He shrugged, reminding Dipper that his hand was still on his shoulder and that he probably ought to remove it. He made no move to, but Wirt didn’t seem concerned. “When I said we had a lot in common, I meant it. I see it in you. The worry, the stress.”

Dipper half-smiled. “Hey, it gets easier.”

“It does?” Wirt asked, hopefully.

Dipper cleared his throat. “Well, there are good days and bad days. But my sister recovered. I may be going at a slower pace, but I know that someday I will, too. Maybe not perfectly, but enough to move on with my life, you know? At least, that’s what I tell myself.” Dipper’s small smile blossomed into a full one. “And I like to think I know what I’m talking about,” he said, half-jokingly.

After a few seconds, Wirt finally smiled back. “Well, if the hero of Gravity Falls can do it…” He laughed through his nose and nudged Dipper with his shoulder, prompting the latter to move his hand onto the small of Wirt’s back, instead.

They sat like that for a while, listening to the _ooh_ s and _aah_ s coming from downstairs.

“Whatever they’re looking at down there must be pretty cool,” Wirt said after a particularly emphatic chorus of _ooh_ s.

“Oh, yeah. This town’s full of stuff like that,” Dipper replied.

“Stuff like what?”

“Like whatever Soos always manages to dig up. Something rare and weird.”

“Am I supposed to assume you’re one of the things he dug up?”

Dipper barked out a laugh, surprised by the joke. “Thanks, I think.”

Wirt tried (and failed) to hide his smile. “You’re very welcome.”

“You wanna go down and see it?”

“Oh—no, thank you. I’m actually perfectly entertained right here with you.”

Dipper’s whole body suddenly felt like ice. It was uncomfortable but not at all unfamiliar; the nervous rigidity became a habit at age twelve and a deeply-ingrained trait at sixteen, ensuring that Dipper would not ever be able to “play it cool” (like his sister often suggested to him, as if he’d never tried) when it came to flirting. Even just considering what they were doing to be “flirting” made him feel juvenile, but he supposed it wasn’t hurting anyone. Yet.

“What can I say? I’m a pretty entertaining guy,” he said, coming off more awkward than charming. “Or…so I’m told…”

Wirt’s hand fluttered to a spot just below his ear. “You get that a lot, huh?”

“Um,” Dipper cleared his throat. “Well, not exactly. I’m a little too reclusive for that sort of compliment to be applicable.”

“Not really a people person?”

Dipper shook his head. “More of a books and music person.”

Wirt glanced to the side and worried his lip. After a long stretch of silence, he finally spoke, but in the direction of the door rather than toward Dipper. “What happens if I do stay here? In Gravity Falls, I mean.”

Dipper had faced this question before. What happens if he decides to move out of his mother’s house and into the Shack to take care of Stan? Well, Mabel would come with him. What happens if he decided to spend his gap year there and start his degree next year? Then Mabel would do the same. And, just maybe, they’d meet a pair of brothers that reminded them a little of themselves.

It seemed like the perfect idea to Dipper, but he learned a long time ago not to make decisions for other people. Weighing his options on how to respond was hard, but he eventually settled on another question in lieu of an actual answer. “What do you _want_ to happen?”

“I want you to _tell_ me what’s going to happen,” Wirt said, throwing his hands up in frustration. “I’ve been motel-hopping for a month now and suddenly I just run into this perfect, beautiful town and meet this perfect, beautiful boy. What am I supposed to do? Take a chance and fuck it up like I did before? This would have to be the worst thing I could possibly imagine ruining.”

He knew it was an inappropriate time to smile, but Dipper couldn’t help himself.

“Oh—I’m so sorry, I, uh, didn’t mean to… That wasn’t…” Wirt pressed his mouth into a line and ran a hand through his messy hair. “That didn’t come out right. I mean, I’m not saying you’re _not…_ Um.” He laughed once and held his hands up as if in defeat. “I’m just gonna stop talking now. Ignore me.”

Dipper watched in amusement while the other man anxiously straightened his already-straight collar. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him, it felt so surreal. He guessed he shouldn’t be surprised since most of the things that happened to him were far more absurd. It came with the territory.

“Do you want me to stay?” Wirt asked, meeting his eyes again. “Because you know I can’t guarantee my brand of crazy will mesh well with yours. No offense.”

Dipper actually found it rather funny. “Personally, I think we mesh just fine.”

Wirt opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. It took a minute of careful deliberation (Dipper could tell; he’d been there before for sure), but eventually he got his answer. “You know, I think I’d really like it here.”

“Here…with me?” Dipper asked, looking at the ceiling as though his question held no real weight.

“What, here at the Shack?” Wirt furrowed his eyebrows and was poised to speak again before he realized what the other meant. “Oh. _Oh._ Right.”

Dipper wasn’t sure he liked the way that sounded, but Wirt was quick to clarify. He surprised the other by grabbing his hands and leaning toward him. Grown man or not, he swore he felt his entire face go red all the way down to the neck.

“I’m sorry for overreacting earlier,” Wirt said, anxiously sweeping his tongue over his bottom lip. “Because really—honestly, I mean it—I would…” He stopped short, cleared his throat, and finally managed to spit it out. “I would love to give us a try.”


	4. Four

The living room was heated to an almost oppressively warm temperature that morning, but everyone knew Stan couldn’t stand the cold and Mabel liked to joke that it was because of his “frail old-man skin.” Though he was edging on eighty years old, Stan still fought back with loving insults of his own.

At this point in Dipper’s life, he was pleased to say that things were going well.

He sat on the couch with Wirt’s head in his lap, while Greg and Mabel laid splayed out on the floor in front of them watching TV and Stan drifted in and out of sleep in his rocking chair. It was peaceful, thank god, and for once Dipper didn’t feel the weight of early morning weariness tug at his eyes. He was perfectly alert thanks to A) blueberry tea, and B) hot showers with his boyfriend (who emphatically insisted he use vegan shampoo every damn time and every time Dipper pretended to consider it.)

Wirt and Greg had become temporary live-ins until their shifts at Lazy Susan’s Diner managed to accrue enough wealth for them to move out on their own, but the Pines didn’t mind their company—in fact, they were a delight to have around according to Mabel, and “some interesting mother-fuckers” according to Stan, which Dipper had to explain was definitely a compliment.

It had been about six months, and the people that had once been complete strangers were now as close to family to the Pines as they could get without actually being Pines ( _yet_ , Mabel would say, waggling her eyebrows at her embarrassed brother.)

All in all, he supposed things could have turned out worse.

His thoughts were interrupted by Wirt pushing himself up to a sitting position and stretching his arms above his head. “Heading out soon?” Dipper asked, glancing at the wall clock. “But it’s only seven-thirty.”

“I told Susan I’d be in early today,” Wirt responded upon standing. He straightened his sweater and threw his arms out to the sides as if to model it. “Do I look all right?”

“Nope!” Mabel and Greg yelled in unison, prompting Wirt to make a face over his shoulder at them.

Promptly and politely he returned, “You two are looking equally terrible this morning.”

Greg shot his brother a grin and Mabel flipped her hair. “Yeah right,” the latter said. “We all know who the prettiest one in this house is. Right, Grunkle Stan?”

“Thanks, sweetie,” Stan said, taking a sip of coffee that he somehow hadn’t managed to spill yet. “I know I am.”

Wirt smiled at the exchange and combed his fingers through his hair. “You want to walk with me today?” he asked, turning his focus back around to Dipper. “It’s nice out.” The question sounded nonchalant enough, but Dipper could tell by the way Wirt avoided his gaze that he had something to say.

_Oh, no. This was it, wasn’t it? He’s breaking up with me._ Then, more logically, _well he hasn’t been acting any differently. It’s probably not that._

“Sure,” he replied, only a little uneasily. He pulled on his shoes and jacket before he realized he’d have to haggle with Mabel for his hat back. “Come on Mabel, act your age,” he complained, trying to snatch it from behind her back.

“Say please,” Mabel shot back childishly, giving him a wicked grin.

“ _Mabel_ ,” he said, crossing his arms. “I am not—”

“Fine, spoilsport,” she said all of the sudden, tossing the hat at his chest where he just barely managed to catch it. Mabel, of course, laughed at his expense. “Have a nice walk, bro.”

“Thanks?” Dipper affixed the hat to his head and turned to leave. He swore out of the corner of his eye he saw Mabel gives a thumbs-up to Wirt, but he wasn’t about to probe and risk making the man late for work. Late for being early, anyway.

Once the two were out the door he has to ask, “Why do you need to go in early?”

“Oh, y’know,” Wirt said nonchalantly, “Have to wipe the…floors…”

“Wipe the floors,” Dipper repeated flatly. “The diner opened an hour ago. Why would you be mopping with people around?”

“Haha, I dunno. That’s Susan for you.”

“Okay,” Dipper started deliberately, “what’s really going on?”

Wirt paled but to his credit managed to keep a smile on his face. “You’re no good at accepting surprises, are you?” He punctuated this with a laugh, at which Dipper had to smile.

“You don’t really have to work early today, do you?”

“I’m off all day,” he answered pleasantly.

“So this is a date, isn’t it?”

Wirt hummed. “Maybe.”

They walked in amicable silence until they stood before Lazy Susan’s Diner, Wirt beaming and Dipper looking downright confused. “Okay, I’ll bite. What are we still doing here?”

“Meeting for the first time,” Wirt said matter-of-factly, pushing the door open and gesturing his date inside.

Dipper snorted. “That’s so cheesy.”

“It’ll get worse.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

“It is.”

The duo took a booth in the corner where Susan immediately sprang into action, bearing platefuls of pancakes and mugs of coffee in on a tray. “Good morning, boys!” she practically sang. Wirt had definitely clued her in on this date, Dipper thought in mild embarrassment. He wasn’t that big on PDA, so he really didn’t want Susan in his business as much as he liked her.

“Good morning,” the men echoed, watching her set the table.

“If y’all need anything you just holler, all right?” She pursed her bright purple lips at Wirt, trying and failing to contain a giddy smile.

“Thank you so much, Susan,” he replied, almost breathlessly. “I appreciate this.”

Dipper nodded in agreement, though he couldn’t help but feel a little weird being caught mostly unawares between the other two’s joyful grins.  He watched Susan return to the kitchen, then set his elbows on the table so he could steeple his fingers thoughtfully. “I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me about this,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“Do you ever relax?” Wirt asked, smiling sweetly.

Dipper huffed and sat up straight again. “At least the pancakes aren’t heart-shaped.”

“I thought about it,” Wirt admitted, already chewing. “Mabel said you wouldn’t go for that.”

Dipper had just picked up his fork and already had to set it back down. “Mabel knows about this?” he asked with a groan. “She’s never going to leave us alone about it.”

Wirt agreed by way of explanation. “She really likes this stuff. Planning is kind of her expertise, apparently.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

The rest of breakfast passed quickly, full of warm conversation and sub-par coffee, as Dipper had come to like his mornings.

Their next expedition was to hike the trail up the mountain, where Dipper made a point to say he’d hiked _actual_ trails before and was consequently met with a curious, “This isn’t an actual trail?” So, while they ascended hand-in-hand, Dipper explained the difference between real hiking trails and ones made for tourists while Wirt looked on in adoration.

It went on for some time like this, the two of them prowling around town together, telling stories and trading kisses when they could manage to catch a moment alone. By the time they made it back to the Shack business was in full swing, and as they neared Wirt got progressively more fidgety, letting go of Dipper’s hand to mess with his sweater, his hair—anything he could find to fiddle with.

“Ready to be accosted by our siblings?” Dipper asked with a playful chuckle.

“Almost!” Wirt replied, voice nearly cracking.

Dipper furrowed his brows. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” was the response, which was delivered to him all in one breath. “I have one more thing planned.”

Dipper followed the other into the forest, plagued with immeasurable curiosity. They were heading to his favorite clearing, that much he knew, but why was Wirt acting so strangely about it?

They had barely set foot in the clearing when Wirt started talking. “Okay, so I’m sorry in advance because I told everyone about this date and I’m sure they’re going to pester you forever about it.”

Dipper rolled his eyes. “I’m used to it.”

“Well,” Wirt took a deep breath and affixed him with what he was sure was supposed to have been an effortless, charming smile. “We’ve been to this place a lot since we started dating.” He gestured toward the trees around them and laughed once so nervously that it sounded more like a shaky breath than a laugh. “It really made me realize how much I love Gravity Falls and how I’m not so afraid of the woods when you’re beside me because I realized how much I love _you_ and that gave me this stupid, ridiculous idea for a date and—” He’d been going nonstop for the length of his breath span and finally stopped himself.

Dipper, who looked thoroughly amused with these proceedings, had to ask what the fuss was about.

Wirt, who looked thoroughly petrified with these proceedings, had a very good answer for that.

When Wirt knelt down on one knee in front of him, Dipper honestly felt like the whole earth was holding its breath.

“So, Dipper—” Wirt cleared his throat and pulled a small wooden box from his jacket pocket, “I was going to ask…obviously…I _am_ asking you…” He opened the box.

Dipper was suddenly acutely aware of his heart being way too noisy in his chest.

“Will you marry me?”

The earth breathed. The wind blew gently around them, stirring up leaves, dust and dirt.

Dipper wondered what good saving a town was if it didn’t prepare him for the occurrences of a regular life. Then, a second later, he realized that being a hero had nothing to do with this; this wasn’t a question of whether or not the hero was going to say yes, but whether or not _Dipper Pines_ was going to say yes.

The first thing out of his mouth was, “Oh my god,” followed by an emphatic albeit startled, “ _Yes._ ”

Next thing he knew there was a ring on his finger and a man in his arms, the two of them laughing and gripping each other’s shirts like they were afraid of what would happen if they let go. It was then that their lips crashed together, messy and euphoric and perfect. It could have been the end of the world and Dipper wouldn’t have moved away.

“What about the nightmares?” he asked. “They still wake me up at night.”

“Mine do too,” Wirt replied evenly. “You wanna know something else? I’m terrified of pumpkins.”

Dipper smiled. “You’re kidding.”

“Okay, it’s more like a massive discomfort.”

The two of smiled impishly at each other before breaking into twin bouts of laughter. Wirt surprised him by lifting him clear off the ground and spinning him around. “Think we can face the world together?”

“Y’know,” Dipper said, “I really, really do.”


End file.
